


Hoping You'll Fall Too

by Naamah_Beherit



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 23:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15982526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naamah_Beherit/pseuds/Naamah_Beherit
Summary: “Chris, those thighs. I can’t give up on those thighs.”“That ass,” Chris corrects him and lets out a dreamy sigh. “Have you seen that ass?”“No, but—”“But I have and I’m not giving you Yuuri’s number. Goodbye, Viktor.”A lonely night and a Buzzfeed article can make a dangerous combination one's rarely ready for. Or: drunk Yuuri makes questionable decisions, Viktor is a disaster gay, and Chris is done with this shit.





	Hoping You'll Fall Too

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alykapedia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alykapedia/gifts).



> Inspired by [this fantastic art by Alykapedia](http://alykapediaaa.tumblr.com/post/177133556161/hello-yes-i-edited-this-on-ms-paint-bc-i-dont)  
> Beta read by [Vampiric_Charms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vampiric_Charms) and [redheadandslytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redheadandslytherin/pseuds/redheadandslytherin). Thank you ladies ♥
> 
> Believe it or not, an article like this actually [exists and is about Chris Pratt](https://www.buzzfeed.com/christianzamora/chris-pratt-thirst-tweets?utm_term=.nwjVxAY7Dz#.pr8dvk86y9).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognise.

Chris sends him the link early in the afternoon.

Viktor hesitates for a moment when he sees it. It’s always a gamble, checking out whatever Chris decides to grace him with. Sometimes it’s funny, even though there’s a definite limit to the number of cat videos a person can watch. At other times, Viktor ends up with five unexpected browser addons and thirteen viruses he has neither time nor skill to get rid of on his own. Chris’s boyfriend helps Chris when it happens to him. Viktor’s boyfriend can’t help him because he doesn’t exist.

After all, he can only hear _‘Will you show me your gold medals?’_ used as a pick-up line so many times before it starts making him nauseous. As it turns out, it’s quite a hindrance at the beginning of a potential relationship; one that usually stops if from forming altogether.

Which is why Chris – among a great many things of astonishing variety – sometimes also sends him contact information of men he deems boyfriend material, because somehow he seems to be more invested in ending Viktor’s years-long singlehood than Viktor himself is nowadays. To be frank, he got used to his hands and a small collection of toys. At least _they_ don’t ask about his medals.

Upon close examination, this latest message from his menace of a friend doesn’t seem _too_ harmful. This doesn’t have to mean anything, though. The last link he had thought harmless forced him to venture down the street to the computer lab in order to save his laptop from being eaten alive from within. The clerk was incredibly amused; Viktor – not so much. He thinks he still has some leftover blush of mortification etched on his cheeks. There was no good words with which he could explain that the website he visited was supposed to be artistic porn he got from his friend and only gave it a try because it was a long night and he was feeling particularly lonely. That would be as un-Viktor Nikiforov as it could get.

 _It’s just Buzzfeed_ , he reminds himself, throws caution to the wind and clicks the link because he’s bored and the message is accompanied by a few shocked emojis and _‘I didn’t think Yuuri had it in him’_ with three rows of exclamation marks. Viktor doesn’t even know who Yuuri is. Given the suspicious lack of any explanation, he probably should.

But Viktor should also be getting laid – which he’s not, and where’s the justice in that when he’s young and objectively handsome and has had far too much bad luck with one-night stands?

 _‘23 Extremely Thirsty Tweets About Viktor Nikiforov That Get More Desperate The More You Scroll,’_ the title says. Viktor considers suing them for slander since clearly nothing has ever been more wrong than Buzzfeed’s assumptions about his sex life.  He would shed a tear if he wasn’t already used to it.

“Listen to this, darling,” he says to Makkachin who’s napping right next to him on the bed and is drooling all over his leg. He’s never seen a sight more beautiful. “‘ _I’d let Viktor skate on me_.’ Wow, that certainly can’t be safe, can it? I mean, why would I do that? I’m not a sadist.”

Makkachin, in her wisdom, says nothing. He scratches her behind the ear regardless.

“ _‘Someone: says something. Me: yeah but have you seen Viktor Nikiforov’s thighs.’_ Okay, that’s kind of… nice?” He looks down at his dog. “Do you think it’s nice, darling? I do work hard for these thighs.”

They do get more desperate, he has to agree with that. At least there’s nothing about the medals, but he’s got a feeling these people would most likely follow his last one-night stand’s train of thought when it comes down to Viktor and his trophies.  He’s had a hard enough time so much as looking at them the last few days after that incredibly unsuccessful attempt at blowing off steam.

 _‘Read it yet?’_ Chris texts him when Viktor is somewhere in the middle of the article. He’s been tearing through it with what feels like equal parts embarrassment and fascination. On some basic level, he’s flattered to have instigated such reaction. And at the same time he’s thinking about buying a house in some remote area, raising a five-metre high fence around it, and never venturing into the outside world again.

“Chriiiiiiis,” he whines into the phone because it’s easier than texting. “Why did you send it to me?”

“Have you read Yuuri’s yet?”

He scrolls down a bit and sees no Yuuri. “A friend of yours?”

There’s a silence on the other side of the call. Viktor never thought it was possible to convey so much judgement in nothing but silence.

“Are you serious?” And he was wrong, it seems. Chris’s voice is far more judgemental than the silence. “You don’t know who Yuuri is?”

“I’m… not sure?” Viktor says because the only Yuri he can think about is his tiny, feisty rinkmate who’d kill him with blunt skate blades rather than write thirsty tweets for everyone to see.

How long has thirsty had this meaning, anyway? Does not knowing that make Viktor a hermit in addition to a permanent single? Maybe that’s it, maybe he’s too old already and will die alone with a pack of poodles and medals and trophies covered in dust.

“My friend, I am ashamed of you,” Chris says and for once he’s serious. “I know you’d moved to seniors before he started competing in juniors, but—”

“He’s a skater?” Viktor scrolls all the way down to the last screenshot. Sure enough, the author of the tweet is a verified account, even though his profile picture is the second most adorable poodle Viktor’s ever seen.

“I worry about you sometimes.”

“Oh, hush.” He skims over the tweet which is admittedly not as graphic as he expected. It’s also quite… direct if he’s being honest.

 _‘RAW ME VIKTOR’_ it reads. It’s the kind of direct he’ll take over bad pick-up lines every day.

“I wonder what’s got into him,” Chris muses into his ear. Viktor wonders if googling this Yuuri is wise. Perhaps he should be wondering why he doesn’t already know about him instead as apparently he’s supposed to – as long as Chris’s indignation is anything to go by. “Yuuri’s usually quite shy.”

He opens a new tab and hesitates to enter the address. “Maybe his account got hacked.”

“That makes sense. He’s a fan of yours, everyone knows that.”

Apparently everyone except Viktor himself. _Now_ he does feel ashamed. “Right.”

“Maybe you should ask him about that if you see him at a competition next season?” He’s not sure why, but there’s something in Chris’s voice that makes his skin crawl in fear. Disasters follow when Chris starts plotting.

So he types _‘Katsuki Yuuri’_ into the search bar instead and waits for the page to load. A Wikipedia page is first, but otherwise results in Russian and English are scarce in the sea of Japanese letters he can’t read.

“Gotta go, Makka needs a walk,” he says and hangs up without goodbye. Chris will understand. He always does, even though that excuse was flimsy at best.

And so Viktor looks down at the still sleeping Makkachin and runs his fingers through thick curls on her head. There’s more grey in them with each passing day and it sparks a restless disquiet in his heart. “Let’s see what this is about, darling, shall we?”

Then he goes and clicks on the first result.

 

* * *

 

Three websites and seven competition videos later, Viktor has come to the conclusion that Katsuki Yuuri operates in two modes. One is utmost perfection that steals everyone’s breath away as he carves his way through the ice with the most intricate footwork Viktor’s ever seen. The other is a complete disaster and ends with eating the ice at every step. There’s nothing in between and it’s as much fascinating as it is befuddling.

Katsuki Yuuri also has the most impressive thighs in all of men’s singles and upon witnessing them for the first time, Viktor wishes to have them wrapped around his head. Maybe not necessarily with Katsuki Yuuri attached to them; even a faceless, random someone would do, but... _oh,_ those thighs, with rippling muscles that would hold him steady and cater to many a fantasy he has. He’s always been a leg guy, after all.

Some of elements in Yuuri’s routines seem familiar and it hits him after a while – Yuuri’s a fan of his, even Chris said that. This certain way of going into the spin gives it away. Viktor does it because he favours his left leg. Yuuri apparently learnt from that. It leaves Viktor giddy, far more delighted to have inspired someone so much than he should be. Then guilt hits him and settles heavy in his gut.

The thing is, he doesn’t have the heart to watch or read anything skating related after an entire day spent at a rink. He keeps track with news from the ISU, but other than that he relies on Yakov to tell him what he needs to know. After all, that’s what a coach is for. When he says Viktor has to look out for someone, he does and studies that skater’s career until he knows it better than the skater themselves. But when the input he gets is, _‘Don’t worry about him, Vitya’_ or _‘He’s no competition for you, focus on your routine’_ , he believes it. He thinks he vaguely remembers Yakov mentioning something about the Japanese skater who self-destructs more often than not and is no one Viktor has to worry about.

Viktor watches the video of Yuuri’s perfect routine from Four Continents two years prior and realises Yakov has never been more wrong. Sure, there’s a lot of room for improvement and certain elements in Yuuri’s repertoire are way below the norm in senior division, but at the same time those he executes perfectly are breathtaking and podium-worthy.

And those thighs. Viktor can wax lyrical about those thighs. He has to admit Yuuri’s pleasant to look at as well. It’s not the kind of striking beauty that steals one’s breath away, but rather one that creeps up on a person and strikes unexpected.

He finds himself wondering what Yuuri would look like if he smiled. He hasn’t found a single photo of him smiling.

A few good minutes are spent looking for it – to no avail, much to his displeasure. What he _does_ find, though, is a random kid’s YouTube channel and a video called _‘What happens when competitive figure skaters/former ballet dancers try to pole dance’_. Yuuri’s name is written in the summary of the video and unlike when he got the Buzzfeed article from Chris, Viktor doesn’t hesitate to click the link.

The video is dark and shaky, more a theatre of shadows and silhouettes than a truly recognisable background, but the pole in the middle of the screen is shiny enough to stand out. Viktor doesn’t recognise the music that’s playing, all bass and no lyrics, but there’s something familiar in the body of the man who’s climbing the pole to the cheers and whistles of the audience gathered behind the person who recorded this video. In a truly admirable display of coordination and strength he turns, wraps his legs around the pole and starts swirling around it, and that’s when it hits Viktor.

It’s Yuuri. Yuuri can pole dance.

A strangled, broken sound tears its way from Viktor throat. His imagination jumps to life with the speed of light, just as seemingly all the blood in his body rushes down to his dick.

This is how Viktor Nikiforov falls – and he falls _hard_.

 

* * *

 

“Chris, Chris,” he whines to the phone some undetermined time later. “Chris, I’m _so_ gay.”

There’s another moment of judgemental silence. Chris’s apparently become a master of it. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Chris, I need a favour,” Viktor says because he’s desperate and has been forced into involuntary celibacy by his incredible bad luck in picking out men who never get promoted to boyfriends. “You said you knew Yuuri?”

“That I did. And I do. What brought this up?”

For a moment Viktor considers coming up with some kind of an excuse, one that would conceal the inhuman level of desperation he’s been feeling ever since he watched that video. And then he decides to fuck it all because he’s Viktor Nikiforov and never before in his life has he ever settled for half measures.

“Can you give me his phone number?”

Chris snorts and it pierces Viktor’s ear like a javelin. “Absolutely not.”

“Chris—”

“If that’s because of that tweet,” he goes on heedless of whatever words of protest Viktor might have wanted to utter, “then I can’t believe you’d fall so low as to—”

“I want to ask him out, for fuck’s sake!” It’s out before Viktor can stop himself and then he realises he doesn’t care. It’s the truth, after all. He wants to ask Yuuri out to see if anything sparks to life between them and if it does, he’ll just go with the flow from there. He just hopes it’ll eventually involve Yuuri’s thighs wrapped around his head and perhaps, in the future, adopting a few poodles together. Maybe he truly has fallen so low that he’d desperately clutch at straws of possibility if the possibility itself was unavailable to him. “We’ve both been assigned to NHK Trophy this season and I—I’ve been thinking we could... something.”

“Something,” Chris repeats after him. So much incredulity has been bled into his voice that if it oozed out of the phone, Viktor would drown in it. “You want to ask him out.”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t even know who he was until I sent you that article.”

“I do know now, okay?”

Chris sighs and even though Viktor recognises a battle lost when he sees it, he refuses to hang up. Not when those thighs are at stake.

“I told you he’s shy and keeps to himself. He wouldn’t like it if I just gave you his phone number.”

“You also told me he’s my fan,” Viktor reminded him, because he’s a petty creature who delights in calling his friend out on his bullshit. And he’d be lying if he said that Yuuri’s high regard of him doesn’t make him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. “Wouldn’t he—”

“His account probably got hacked, you said it yourself,” Chris cuts him with merciless logic. At this precise moment in his life, Viktor despises logic and reason. “Yuuri’s not the kind of person who’d publicly say something like that.”

“And what if he _does_ think that?” Viktor retorts. He’s built too many dreams based on that assumption. And then whimpers for a good measure, because it’s a war and he’s bent on bringing out the big guns. “Chris, those thighs. I can’t give up on those thighs.”

“That ass,” Chris corrects him and lets out a dreamy sigh. “Have you seen that ass?”

“No, but—”

“But I have and I’m not giving you Yuuri’s number. Goodbye, Viktor.”

Resolution is a thing that grows slowly, thwarted by obstacles and fighting for survival. Viktor’s blooms in record time, between setting the phone aside and picking up his laptop. He’s not sure what to do yet – not exactly, that is, because he’s absolutely certain what he wants the result look like – but no one achieves so much in their life by giving up easily. He’s Viktor Nikiforov: the face of men’s figure skating, the man voted as the sexiest man in the world three times in a row, and he _is_ going to have Katsuki Yuuri’s thighs wrapped around his head if it’s the last thing he does.

 

* * *

 

He gets the idea two days later, when he’s in the middle of bathing Makkachin after she ran off after the seagulls into the sea – again – and then rolled in sand until she resembled a sculpture – _again_. He doesn’t mind; the happy glint in her eyes and sloppy licks she gives him are enough of a compensation. As he washes her, his mind boldly ventures into the territory of impossible fantasies – and for a moment, he entertains an idea of someone else by his side, laughing as they bathe Makka together, of stolen kisses and foam thrown at each other.

Viktor walks out of the bathroom with a newly-found determination and records the reaction video in a span of an hour. That includes make-up and styling his hair, and it’s definitely a new record for him. But desperate times call for desperate measures, or so he’s been told, and it’s about time Makkachin got another dad.

He watches the video again, deems it adequately interested but not too desperate (is _‘Maybe buy me dinner first, Yuuri’_ not too desperate? He hopes not. God, he has truly lost his touch), and sends it to Buzzfeed. The article is up in three hours. He’s trending worldwide after two more.

There’s no reaction from Yuuri for the next week.

It’s fine, Viktor tells himself. After all, he had read all the tweets, so maybe Yuuri didn’t watch it until the end? Perhaps he thought Viktor wasn’t serious? There was a ‘maybe’ in there after all. Maybe implies lack of certainty. If there’s anything Viktor lacks in his desire to wine and dine Yuuri, it definitely isn’t certainty. So after three more days he sends Yuuri a private message over Twitter to let him know just _how_ sure he is about asking him to dinner. The message is marked as read the next time he opens it.

No answer ever comes.

 

* * *

 

Japan is bleak and grey in autumn, and so is Viktor when he arrives at the arena almost an hour before the start of the public practice.

Over time, his determination has turned into something bitter, accompanied by _‘I told you so’_ spoken in Chris’s voice that keeps echoing in his mind. Maybe deep down he knew it would come to this and that hoping would get him nowhere. He’d been hoping for so many things and not one of them ever came to pass, so why this one would? He’s already built so many futile dreams that he didn’t recognise another one when it was thrown at him.

He’s so used to being the first one to come to the rink in the mornings and the last one to leave that it takes a good minute to realise that yes, someone else is already on the ice and _yes_ , those are figure eights being carved into the ice, and who even does them these days? And then the skater turns so that Viktor can see their face and _oh_ , it’s Yuuri.

Viktor’s on the ice before he even registers what he’s doing. He knows he’ll start second-guessing himself when he stops, so he simply doesn’t and lets his feet carry him towards Yuuri. It’s only when he’s right next to him when Yuuri stops and looks up at him, squinting. He looks adorable like that and Viktor is an expert on all things adorable, so his verdict can’t be truer. He’s got Makka after all, who’s the pinnacle of adorableness.

“Hello, Yuuri,” he says and throws in a wink for good measure. Yuuri’s eyes widen. Then he shrieks and falls onto his – supposedly magnificent, but Chris is prone to exaggeration – bottom, and Viktor reaches out to help him back onto his feet. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you! Are you okay?”

Having Yuuri’s hand in his is like holding the wind, feather-light and barely there. Viktor imagines those fingers running across his back and shivers. And it’s _not_ because the rink’s so damn cold.

Yuuri murmurs something and takes his hand back. He wraps his arms around himself and somehow manages to look much smaller than he really is. Viktor wants to wrap his arms around Yuuri too.

“Y _uu_ ri,” he sings, “are you okay?”

A moment of silence. And then, “Yes,” barely louder than a whisper. It’s a success, though, so Viktor beams as if he was just asked by Yuuri on a date.

“Good. I’d hate to be the reason you hurt yourself before the competition began.” He smiles wider and tries to ignore how pale Yuuri is. He attributes it to the cold and doesn’t even consider alternatives. Alternatives would mean that once again he was wrong to hope. “I don’t know if you’ve seen my message,” which is an outward lie, because he _does_ know but decides to start with a clean slate, “but I’ve been thinking we could—”

“Vik—I mean, Nikiforov-san, I am so sorry.” Yuuri bends himself in a perfect bow and Viktor is treated to a perfect view of his backside. As it turns out, Chris was right. Not that Viktor’s ever going to admit it to him. “I was… that tweet… I was drunk and I… That’s no excuse, I know, but I just wanted to let you know that I’m incredibly sorry about it.”

Viktor blinks a few times as something cold settles in his heart. It feels like disappointment and rejection, and he’s experienced plenty of those to recognise them on the spot. “Drunk,” he repeats after Yuuri and oh, it does make sense now. “Oh, I didn’t think… _Oh._ ”

It’s almost hilarious how easily dreams can be shattered. All it takes is one word.

 _Stupid,_ something vile whispers in Viktor’s mind. _Stupid and reckless._

“I...” He lets his voice trail away because what he can really say? That he’s built a paper castle out of hopes and placed it on sand thinking it would last forever? “I’m... sorry, it seems I...”

Overreacted. Didn’t think. Didn’t listen to the warnings. Any of those might do. He can utter neither.

Yuuri is silent for a moment, though he seems to be looking at Viktor. Viktor can’t be certain about it because of the squint, but he wants to believe he holds Yuuri’s attention even for a moment. It’s probably the last moment ever, because he’s most likely irrevocably ruined his image. All he can hope for is that his blunder won’t find its way to the internet.

Is Yuuri the kind of person who’d sell it? Viktor will have to ask Chris later – and probably grovel a bit before receiving an answer.

“I—one moment, please,” Yuuri says in the meantime and skates away from him towards the boards. Viktor’s heart feels heavier with each glide he makes. He wants to scream at himself and curse his stupidity and desperation, but can’t exactly do that in public. He also wants to cuddle Makkachin but he can’t do that either, because Makka stayed in St Petersburg while he’s gone to fight for another gold medal that won’t bring him any joy or warmth, and all of a sudden he realises he’s so, _so_ tired.

Then Yuuri’s back in front of him, glasses on his face and eyes wide open and focused on Viktor. Now that he’s no longer squinting, Viktor can see they’re brown; the deep, rich, saturated kind of brown that suits Yuuri well.

He decides to brave it because he has nothing left to lose. “I’m so—”

“Why did you do this?” Yuuri asks before Viktor can finish his sentence. The slightest of blushes dusts his cheeks with pink. “The video and the—the message. Why did you send it?”

Viktor looks at him and takes everything in – his posture, taut and rigid, and his fingers, relentlessly fiddling with the zipper of his training jacket – and realises Yuuri’s nervous. A similar kind of unease has been coiled around his own heart ever since he sent that message. And because Yuuri deserves nothing but honesty from him, he says, “I thought you meant it. I _hoped_ you meant it, but... well, the joke’s on me, so...”

“Did _you_ mean it?”

A strangled noise dies in Viktor’s throat. He wants to laugh it all off, claim to have been drunk himself because it would be easier than swallowing yet another rejection. “Yes,” he says quietly instead, taking his heart into his hands and offering it in hopes it won’t get shattered.

Yuuri’s eyes are wide and shining as he looks up at Viktor.  The blush on his cheeks deepens with every second. “Oh. I...”

“Yes?” Viktor asks even though he dares not hope.

Yuuri mutters something to himself. Viktor cannot possibly decipher his words. Then he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and blurts out, “I meant it too.”

“Oh,” Viktor says and it takes a moment for those words to sink. Then they do and suddenly he feels lighter than he has in a while. There’s no stopping himself – he doesn’t even _want_ to resist the urge to take Yuuri’s hands in his. “ _Yuuri!_ ”

They look at each other for a moment. Viktor wants to start waxing lyrical about Yuuri’s eyes now too. They deserve every verse.

He knows he’s getting ahead of himself, but for once he doesn’t care.

“I don’t know what’s happening,” Yuuri admits and laughs carelessly. And _oh_ , there’s a smile Viktor’s been craving to see ever since he watched the first video. It’s as perfect as he imagined it to be.

“How about we figure it out?” he says. He doesn’t have a bouquet or a reservation in a fancy restaurant and above all he doesn’t have time, but he couldn’t care less about any of that. Not when Yuuri’s looking at him like he still can’t believe they’re standing here together. Viktor can relate, so he squeezes his hands. “Together?”

Yuuri beams; it’s bright like the sun itself and Viktor thinks it’s the kind of smile he can fall in love with. “Together,” he says and it’s the most beautiful word he has ever heard.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://naamah-beherit.tumblr.com/) in case you'd like to say hello, file a complaint report, or witness occasional floods of photos of dogs and the outer space.


End file.
